The Kids

About 95 children live at Wellington Orphanage. They are split between two buildings. All the girls and the younger boys live in the building uphill. The older boys live in the building downhill. 50 of the older boys and girls came to the camp at Njala University.

Some of the kids latched right on to us while others were a bit shy at first. I imagine the kids are accustomed to missionaries coming in and out of their home. It can’t be easy, especially when they get really attached to their foreign visitors. One cannot help but wonder how they ended up at the orphanage. More than likely the older kids, say from age 13-20, are at the orphanage as a result of the civil war. This means that they probably witnessed their village and parents being tortured, maimed, and slaughtered before walking sometimes up to 100 miles to the big city, Freetown, before they somehow connected with Wellington orphanage. Many of the girls were also sold into slavery or prostitution before finding a home at Wellington.

The younger kids were most likely abandoned in the city or left outside Wellington’s doors. They way I saw it, extreme poverty drives people to do things we could never imagine. During the opening ceremony at Njala Reverend Hassan told the story of how he started Wellington 16 years ago. He told us that after walking over 100 miles on foot to Freetown he began teaching at an elementary school. He then found a baby in the street and decided to take him into his home. He has since married and had his own children, but in the meantime continued to give shelter to the abandoned children of the war. I wish I could recount his exact words, but his speech was so moving and beautiful. Later that day at lunch I asked Reverend Hassan who the baby was, and he replied it was Augustine. No more than five minutes later Augustine sat right beside me. Really it felt like an honor to sit beside this quiet, humble young man. Throughout the camp I silently got to know Augustine.

I kept thinking to myself, “How can these kids, or anyone, have trust or have joy in their hearts?” Yet, thanks to the love and support at Wellington orphanage, the kids were generally full of joy; they still preserved some childlike innocence. Though, I do not doubt they were on their best behavior while we were there. I also constantly felt like there was something else going on with the kids that we were not aware of, or that we could not comprehend because of their slightly distant past. We did hear stories of bedwetting and fighting during the earlier days at the orphanage, so the transition to general normalcy certainly took time.

The kids wanted to know all about our families; many even had us write down the names and birthdays of our immediate family members. We learned later that they did this because they write letters to us and to our family members before we depart. These weren’t letters asking for money or things, they were simply letters saying how much they appreciated us, what we were doing, and that they would keep us in their prayers. At first I felt kind of bad talking about my family because I thought it would make the kids miss their family members, but that was not the case. The kids just loved scrolling through all the pictures on my camera. I had pictures of family in Florida, of a visit to my grandfather’s home in Puerto Rico, and of my time working in Costa Rica last year. I’d ask them if they knew where Puerto Rico and Costa Rica were. Most did not, but then I’d ask if they knew where Jamaica and Mexico were---that was close enough.

The first day at the orphanage I would ask kids what they wanted to be when they grow up. Most said they wanted to be accountants, doctors, or lawyers. But in reality they have little idea what persons in those professions do---when have they ever met an accountant? By the end of the camp it was neat because many children said they wanted to go into agricultural economics or crop science. I think one of the most important messages they learned was that accountants, doctors, and lawyers have to eat, and they have to feed their families. If a country cannot feed itself, then how does it expect to nurture white-collar professions?

At some point my roommates and I had a heated discussion about positives and negatives of how the camp was going. It was to be expected that issues would arise with regard to miscommunication and unexpectedly changed plans during the camp. We talked about how important it was to keep a distance between the kids and ourselves because it was not fair to the children to get close to them and then leave, never to know if we would see them again. In theory this makes sense, but boy it is sure hard to put into practice. I mean, I didn’t want to pick favorites- that would be even worse. But, you know, if you spend 14 hours a day in close quarters with very energetic teenagers, they kind of grow on you.

Even when we returned to the orphanage the little ones were so happy to see us—and we only spent a half-day with them! There was one boy in particular, Francis, who surprised me. He was one of the boys playing hand soccer our first day at Wellington. He did not speak much, but after a few words with him I realized this was because he had a lateral lisp (thanks to my mother, the speech therapist, I can identify various speech impediments). Let me tell you—almost as soon as I stepped out of the SUV at Wellington, Francis ran at me like a bullet and hugged me so hard, I couldn’t believe it!

Needless to say, leaving the kids was the hardest part of this trip. Yes, the living conditions were challenging, but memories of no running water fade quickly. The persistent thought in my mind is, “What will become of these children?”