A Day at the Factory
About 50% of every day is engaged in some sort of assembly-line task. Every morning we make 70-something formula bottles. Twice a day we help brush 30 little mouths. Twice a day we put on/take off sixty shoes on little feet.(Actually, that last one's often more like three or four times a day, since taking shoes off and then needing them put back on is a good way to get adult attention...and that's what it's all about for these poor attention-started kids!)
And, of course, there's feeding time. We aren't there for breakfast, but lunch and dinner are EXACTLY the same every single day: little colorful bowls full of rice, meat and vegetables, all mushed together. Sometimes I wonder if the kids even know that other foods exist. (Many have lived here since infancy, so they've never been exposed to the world outside the orphanage walls.)
About two-thirds of the children can feed themselves, so volunteers are needed to help shovel rice into the other kids mouths. At this point, we are all very aware of which babies to steer clear of at feeding time. I try to (covertly) be in the vicinity of Nsikelelo when it's time to feed a baby since he's always very interested in eating. And, on rare occasion when he loses interest, all I have to do is give a bite from his bowl to some other child and he's immediately back on task. With so many kids in such a small area, there's definitely an environment of competition. (Hmmm...that might make me sound mean. Let's just call it 'strategic'.)
Bathtime is another daily assembly-line production. The staff mamas wash the children, then we dry them off, rub Vaseline on their bodies (is this common?), and dress them. Toddlers get bathed in one room, babies in another.
I don't like it. In fact, I don't even go in to help anymore. The toddler bathtime is too sweaty and chaotic--the bathroom's too small for that many little naked toddlers--and, I dunno, rubbing down a four year old with Vaseline isn't really my thing. And the baby bathtime is really just an opportunity for the mobile babies to beat the snot out of each other. Maybe it's the temptation of all that naked skin or something, because immediately after we take off their clothes, the slapping and kicking commences. And since all the kids have pretty much figured out that volunteers are not allowed to discipline the children, they largely ignore our attempts to break up the fights. (And no, physically separating them doesn't work since there's one of you and many of them). On rare occasion the whole scene is actually kind of funny, but most of the time, the resultant crying is just too loud.
And really...that's what it always comes back to: Betsy can't handle the noise level. And also...the other volunteers don't seem to care.
The Staff Mamas
There are always three or four staff mothers working at any time. They are called "SiSis", which is Xhosa for Miss. Two of them are pictured at right. The kids all really listen to them! A baby could be having the fit of the century, and all the SiSi has to do is yell his name and he will stop crying immediately. It's wierd. Who knew yelling at a crying baby would get him to stop crying. I think it's a numbers thing again: there are so many other kids running amok that when your name is called by a SiSi, it's serious and you'd better listen because there could be consequences (non-violent) if a SiSi calls your name.
So, that's daily life in the factory, with a little bit of whining thrown in there. :)
SIDE NOTE: What I'm blaming it on (he he)
They are all delightful children, really, so I don't want to blame the chaos on the kids. I've decided the problem is either me (some rare auditory-sensitivity disease) or it's a space thing. The space is TOO small for so many babies and toddlers. The picture below shows the extent of the main room--the size of that red-blue-yellow-green pad on the floor. That's it. (Kids can't play in the bedrooms during the daytime.)
So maybe, just maybe, if the room were bigger... Hmmm. Ya think?
(Note: In the picture above the kids are ENRAPTURED by seeing their faces on the TV. A former volunteer made a DVD slide show of the pictures she took at Bap and mailed it to us. We had just received it that day and the kids LOVED it.)
And, of course, there's feeding time. We aren't there for breakfast, but lunch and dinner are EXACTLY the same every single day: little colorful bowls full of rice, meat and vegetables, all mushed together. Sometimes I wonder if the kids even know that other foods exist. (Many have lived here since infancy, so they've never been exposed to the world outside the orphanage walls.)
About two-thirds of the children can feed themselves, so volunteers are needed to help shovel rice into the other kids mouths. At this point, we are all very aware of which babies to steer clear of at feeding time. I try to (covertly) be in the vicinity of Nsikelelo when it's time to feed a baby since he's always very interested in eating. And, on rare occasion when he loses interest, all I have to do is give a bite from his bowl to some other child and he's immediately back on task. With so many kids in such a small area, there's definitely an environment of competition. (Hmmm...that might make me sound mean. Let's just call it 'strategic'.)
Bathtime is another daily assembly-line production. The staff mamas wash the children, then we dry them off, rub Vaseline on their bodies (is this common?), and dress them. Toddlers get bathed in one room, babies in another.
I don't like it. In fact, I don't even go in to help anymore. The toddler bathtime is too sweaty and chaotic--the bathroom's too small for that many little naked toddlers--and, I dunno, rubbing down a four year old with Vaseline isn't really my thing. And the baby bathtime is really just an opportunity for the mobile babies to beat the snot out of each other. Maybe it's the temptation of all that naked skin or something, because immediately after we take off their clothes, the slapping and kicking commences. And since all the kids have pretty much figured out that volunteers are not allowed to discipline the children, they largely ignore our attempts to break up the fights. (And no, physically separating them doesn't work since there's one of you and many of them). On rare occasion the whole scene is actually kind of funny, but most of the time, the resultant crying is just too loud.
And really...that's what it always comes back to: Betsy can't handle the noise level. And also...the other volunteers don't seem to care.
The Staff Mamas
There are always three or four staff mothers working at any time. They are called "SiSis", which is Xhosa for Miss. Two of them are pictured at right. The kids all really listen to them! A baby could be having the fit of the century, and all the SiSi has to do is yell his name and he will stop crying immediately. It's wierd. Who knew yelling at a crying baby would get him to stop crying. I think it's a numbers thing again: there are so many other kids running amok that when your name is called by a SiSi, it's serious and you'd better listen because there could be consequences (non-violent) if a SiSi calls your name.
So, that's daily life in the factory, with a little bit of whining thrown in there. :)
SIDE NOTE: What I'm blaming it on (he he)
They are all delightful children, really, so I don't want to blame the chaos on the kids. I've decided the problem is either me (some rare auditory-sensitivity disease) or it's a space thing. The space is TOO small for so many babies and toddlers. The picture below shows the extent of the main room--the size of that red-blue-yellow-green pad on the floor. That's it. (Kids can't play in the bedrooms during the daytime.)
So maybe, just maybe, if the room were bigger... Hmmm. Ya think?
(Note: In the picture above the kids are ENRAPTURED by seeing their faces on the TV. A former volunteer made a DVD slide show of the pictures she took at Bap and mailed it to us. We had just received it that day and the kids LOVED it.)