one love

Going through the endless piles of clothes and shoes and blankets and sheets- enough to supply a small army of children- made me think back to a show I saw on TLC called "Hoarders." There is a quick intro to the series above. A show about people who have trouble letting items go, I never thought I would EVER come across a house or resident that looked like some of the places TLC explores on the show. Wrong on that one. At Marigold there is stuff EVERYWHERE. and when I say everywhere, I mean it... EVERYwhere. Under cribs, in closets that you can't even open because cribs are blocking them, on top of beds, in the bathroom, in the kitchen on top of the cabinets, In the school, around the school, near the school, the side of the house. Junk is everywhere.

Sorting through the clutter of clothes and shoes, we found an abundance of items of clothing that would simply never be worn by any of the children: heavy sweaters, clothing made out of velvet, long sleeve thick cotton t-shirts, and a plethora of long jean pants. All stuffed into corners and taking up precious shelf space that the workers need for practical clothing. As Elin and I spent a few hours folding and reorganizing and making sense of the tornado of clothes, I couldn't help but become overwhelmed. Once we finished folding all the clothes in the main closet we looked around to see baskets of clothes stacked on one another, a huge 5 ft cylindrical container stuffed to the brim with clothes, and the back closet is filled with dusty clothes.

It was in this moment that I realized the abundance at Marigold. There is an abundance of food, an abundance of water, an abundance of nurses. Plenty of helping hands, plenty of resources for the children. There are enough clothes to put together at least one if not two entire wardrobes for each child, complete with swimmies, sandals, shoes, dress shoes, dress clothes, pajamas, and casual clothes. There is enough water to nourish each child fully and completely, to the point where when you pinch the delicate skin on the underneath of their wrists, it doesn't stick together, but elastically falls back into place. In the office space, strictly a forbidden area for the youngings, books lay stacked under the desks, in the cabinets. They lay spread out on couches and hidden in bags tied up and pushed underneath raised surfaces. In the school room, books are in a cabinet. Three of the Four doors of the cabinet are closed and unaccessbile to the children at all times. They read the same 20 books over and over again. These books are in a compartment where the door of the shelf has been broken. The children can only read during breaks in school. Futhermore, the children are lucky enough to have women from the community come in every christmas and give each child presents. Every year, on December 25, the children wake up and run to rip off the wrapping paper off presents and toys. Picked out. Bought. Wrapped. Taped. With love. All for them. These toys are taken away and placed on top of the books, next to the books, in the cabinets. On top of the toys that have been opened, there are bags and bags of wrapped toys in the offices, with homemade special notes. Never been touched.

The reasons the children lack access to water, books, toys and attention is a function of choice, not accessibility. The resources are there. The people are there to give them love and hugs and kisses and toss them into the air, but they don't. If they pick up one, the rest flock to them to demand the same type of attention. The cost of that kind of behavior is too high a price to pay. It isn't worth it. How? Can, this be. Why not place the books on a shelf in a common area? Why not solicit more donations for diapers so that you can feed the children water and change their diapers twice as often. We need water to grow. By Tuesday, Elin and I will have sent out letters to huggies, pampers, and every other large company that is a diaper vendor in a desperate attempt to provide the tangible resources necessary to allow the children to be given more water.

Earlier this week I became furious. Furious with the people who put these children into situations that don't build them up but break them down. That teaches them force and aggression for attention, rather than good behavior. When I say "the people who put the children", I don't mean the workers from the child protection agency, I am referring to the seemingly reckless and irresponsible parents who get themselves to a place where their children are legally removed from their possession. I don't want to pass judgment, or make a blanket statement about all of the parents of the children who reside in Marigold. It would be insensitive, inconsiderate, and quite frankly very rude. I do not know the stories behind what happened, the pressures they might be facing or the reasons for the end result. All I know is what I see and what I have been told. I come from a place not of judgment but of concern. The other day, a woman came into Marigold and was holding Aryana, a beautiful young girl with a baby face and a bright smile. She spent one hour there and then left. I was later told that was her mother. HOW IN THE WORLD, could you come visit your baby once a week and then just jet on out, carry on with your day, get in your car and drive away? One of the nurses told me she is in an abusive relationship with Aryanas father, and can't seem to get away. That is her baby daughter, her blood, her genes, her sweat and tears and everything inbetween. How could you look at a situation where you are in an abusive relationship and not pick your little baby? Wouldn't you do every possible thing in your power to keep your baby, even if it meant moving countries, sending her to live with family for a couple of months, quitting your job and starting over somewhere new? Are there other options? or am I being naive and ignorant? Culturally insensitive and obtuse? I know actions are easier said than done.. but really? I struggle with the strange reality that many of these children have relatives in Kingston. They have family here. Not in cuba, or haiti, or the states, or london or miami. HERE. And they are still at Marigold. Fighting for a spot in a crib to sleep everynight, fighting to learn to read and spell, fighting for attention every minute of every day from someone, anyone. Most of these children are not up for adoption. They are stuck. Stuck. in. a. downward. spiral. A spiral that springboards from a foundation, an upbringing. The presence or lackthereof of morals and values. A spiral that starts when you don't have a mentor. The world they live in is push or be pushed, bite or be bit, fight or be fought. If not interrupted by a strong positive influence, event, or momentous epiphany, this same mentality applied in 5 or 6 years will transform from push or be pushed into kill or be killed.

I actively try and push myself to stay in the positive by asking myself to identify what works at Marigold. The children are happy. They smile all the time, prompted easily by a wave or a funny face. They are fed and nourished with breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks in between. They eat well. They are safe there. Safe from the homes they have been taken from. From the person or people they have been taken from. Safe from the abusive relationships that may have entered their young, precious, and delicate lives. The workers are efficient. They care for the physical needs of the children: they bathe, wash, and change the kids' clothes 3 times a day. They have the system down like clockwork. They have school. They have recess. They play and run and jump and swing and dig.

No matter the anger, frustration, or emotional toll that this experience is taking on me, this isn't about me. It is about them. And I see their happiness and joy every second of every day. When they fight, they do so with good spirits. When they climb and push to jump on your back, they do so with good intentions, the intentions of soaking up a little love, a kiss and a hug before they have to join the masses once more. There is joy in Marigold. It is a place blossoming with love, and charisma, and attitude. Like any dysfunctional family, Marigold has its problems, but at the end of the day there is a common thread that runs through all of the children there. No matter the form it takes, there is love. When you look close enough you see the love between the children. When Raymond prevented Kellina from getting a spanking through dragging her away from a fight with a younger child. When Ackeem, hard at work at his craft, sees his little one year old sister staring at him empty handed saying "akhila don't get no crown? mama get her paper." When Jackie sees an infant crying on the ground in a puddle of tears and lifts her up and pats her on the back until she stops crying. When Anna, a two year old who rarely speaks, points to Michael who is about to fall out of his crib and says "help mama." It is there, you just have to look closely.

    

Top to bottom: Ackeem, Akhila, Boys doing craft

Great news today, Anna got adopted!!!!!!!!!!!! She will be leaving in the next week or so. She has been like a little monkey to me, she quietly follows in my footsteps until she gets my attention and just lifts her hands up in the air with the biggest smile to be lifted up. Clever one, I swear. I have grown to love her so much, It is what I look forward to in the mornings. What gets me out of bed at 6:30am. For my own selfish reasons it will be sad to see her leave, I don't want to let her go into the real world. I want to pause this moment in time where she is safe in my arms and where I can protect her and feed her oreo 100 calorie snack packs (her favorites). Recognizing my selfish desires and setting them aside, I am beaming with joy for the small triumph of today. She won't be one of the children who bounces around from home to home to home until they are 18 in foster care. She will have a family. And grow up with one mama instead of 16. She will be tossed and kissed, pampered and spoiled. It proved to me that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and reminded me that there still is such a thing as happy endings.

keep it irie,
tkm