you have to be willing to get happy about nothing -Andy Warhol

friday
today was the quintessential Marigold day--crazy, tiring, bizarre, joyful, hilarious, heavy, challenging, and wonderful. as soon as we walked in this morning, we could tell that everyone was unsettled. the children finally knew they were leaving, greeting us with: "me ya go way!" the caregivers were talking in hushed voices with one another, filling the time before their meeting with representatives of the Head Office who were coming at ten in the morning to tell them where they were being assigned during the renovations. it was a tense time for everyone, uncertainty permeating the air, stress puppeteering all interactions.


we spent the beginning of the morning in school with Ms. Williams, and it was crazy. the children were everywhere, climbing under the chalkboard, standing on their chairs, crying, laughing, yelling across the room, using Tara and I as ladders, sweeping.

after Ms. Williams decided she needed to rearrange the seating to help keep the children under control and moved all of the young children away from Tara and me, we got the hint and went down to Marigold for a little. while we were down there, Ms. Brown walked up to us in the kitchen and said, "Hi, Teachers!!" we were so touched that this is what she chose to call us and smiled back, telling her good morning and asking how she was doing. by this time the meeting was about to start, so we went up to the school to tell Ms. Williams everyone was ready to talk. this is when we found out what Ms. Brown was talking about. we were going to be the teachers for the morning. let's go.

the morning was absolutely hysterical. it was one of those times when all you can do is laugh along with the kids because it is so ridiculous that nothing else makes sense. we started out with the younger kids playing with play dough and the older children drawing with crayons and construction paper. the younger ones were having such a good time making snakes and bracelets with the dough, watching balls form as they rolled their hands this way and then squeeling with excitement as their ball turned into a pancake when they banged it on the table. then Ronaldino decided to climb up the shudders on the window in an attempt to pull the curtains down. and every older child in the room wanted Tara to write their name on their paper. and Jamani discovered that he loves the taste of green play dough. from here, the small school room slowly spiraled into an hour-and-a-half-long fiasco, the energy of which rivaled the hurricane that was going on outside that kept bombing the tin roof with mangoes. baby dolls, crayons, chairs and shoes became the ammunition of a small war taking place in the corner by Ms. William's desk. the other side of the classroom that was blocked by the chalkboard became an irresistible temptation, the identical setting gilded with that mouth-watering coating of something forbidden. under the chalkboard, over the chairs, between the chairs used to block the space under the chalkboard, over the desk--nothing was too much to keep the children away from the other side. we have some strong-willed kids. after the stack of construction paper left on the desk began to appear less than the number of balled-up sheets scattered on the floor, Tara's genius shone in all it's strength and she put on Dora the Explorer (who is now our best friend. Bless her.) immediately the children calmed down, mesmerized by Swiper doing his thing and Backpack magically having everything Dora needed. the children helped Dora choose which path to take down the river twice, helped identify a triangle out of a group of shapes, and pointed out the castle when they saw it on the other side of the mountain Dora had to cross. such little helpers. Dora was still playing when the paint on the other side of the class became too much for Jamani, Etana and Leisha to resist. peering around the chalkboard, Tara saw Leisha looking back at her with paint dripping from the corners of her mouth, Jamani finger painting Ms. Mckie's desk, and Etana holding her multi-colored hands up to show her how pretty.


when Ms. Williams returned, she said, "children, how is the room such a mess?" oops... 


after cleaning up with the children, we left Ms. Williams to enjoy a last day with her students. shutting the door behind us as we walked back to Marigold, i couldn't help but smile knowing what a gift the morning was. for all of its craziness, for all of it's absolutely ridiculous moments, it was so pure. the kids were just themselves, making messes and being mischievous and not afraid to get into trouble. they made the space into a preschool, finding everything entertaining in the room and playing with it, working their minds and being creative. they filled our hearts with memories of endearing manifestations of their quirky selves, unintentionally offering us the best good bye gift possible.

it was time for Danielle and Raj to leave for their new home. and they were so ready. Danielle has been so excited to go since she and Raj visited on Wednesday, and when she was called from school to get ready, a huge smile lit up her face. she has the most beautiful heart, and i am so grateful for the home she is going to, one we've heard is a place of nurture, hope, family and smiles. she will fit in perfectly. as will Raj with his quiet and peaceful demeanor that downplays the joy inside of him. when he swings by himself, he sings the songs from school out loud.

we spent the rest of the day with the 11 children who were preparing to leave for a different home. it was such a big time for the children. they were about to walk out of the gates of Marigold, walls that rise only four feet off the ground but represent an insurmountable barrier. they were about to get on a bus and drive through the traffic lights they struggle to picture while hearing about them in school. they were about to sleep in their own bed. they were about to enjoy a day that did not follow the routine they have moved through every day they've lived there. they were about to make new friends and explore a new home. i could just picture them being introduced to new children, being shown where they can put their things, which bed is theirs. they were about to trade a place of transience for a home. win. 

it hurt to say goodbye. i don't think i realized just how close i'd become with the children until we were putting their socks on, lacing up their shoes and buttoning their shirts for the last time. but they were so, so excited. i asked Raymond, a little boy who has lived at Marigold for the entire six years of his life, if he was excited to leave. he looked at me with the brightest sparkle in his eye, nodded, and said "yes. i'm happy." and he is. i could tell. and as he walked around telling all of his friends, "me nah come back. me ya go and nah come back," i was so happy it was finally his turn. living at Marigold for six years, all of the friends he has made have left before him. he's said goodbye to those who were not coming back, waving to them from the bars of the veranda. and now it was our turn to wave goodbye to him. it was his turn to not come back. it's his turn to live. 

we know we'll have to say goodbye to the rest of the children next week. putting together little goody bags for the children, we've been talking about how excited we are for the children. it's so cool to see the children move to new homes, to see them light up talking about what is awaiting them when the bus parks. it's so strange to think about their mobility, to think that all it takes is for one director to sign Ms. Wiles' piece of paper and that's it. they're ready to go. i think about the lengths i went through just to pack for these eight weeks. all the stuff i decided to bring or leave behind. i thought about my room at home, the notes from friends hanging on the wall, the pictures framed on shelves, paint that i picked out, movie ticket stubs scattering the counter, my life. and here are these children who stood naked just minutes before they left for their new homes. it was just them, standing there, telling Tara and I they were about to go away. they are just their hearts. they are their spirits, their souls. they're their voices, their laughter, their smiles. they are fragmented memories pieced together by perspective. their lives aren't about possessions or places, just about who they are. maybe it's this simplicity that allows them to love so freely. 

already planning visits to see the children in their new places, we turn to a new phase of the trip. it'll be so weird to be in Marigold without our children. for the past five weeks, they have been Marigold. and, really, i think they will always be Marigold to us. certainly, they'll always be with us. 

Raymond, i hope happiness took on a new meaning today. 

love ya,

eeb