"I Don't Have a Mom"

Mother's Day tends to be a difficult day for the boys and the girls of Ninos con Valor. A day dedicated to someone who is supposed to protect you, love you, watch you blossom, grow, and mature with enthusiasm and care is hard for someone who lives in a home and has been scarred and damaged by their mother, their friend, their confidant, their #1 supporter.

 I wish I could bottle all the love, kindness, and patience my mom (And my dad) had for me, and share it and spread it around the world to children who are lacking love, and those who have been damaged and neglected, abused and abandoned.

 I have been accompanying one of the middle girls to school on the bus. Earlier this week, we were chatting, and she sadly leaned over and asked a question. "Tia, Is this Sunday Mother's Day?" It took me by surprise, and I didn't know what to do when I saw the pain, hurt, and sadness on her face. "Yes, this Sunday is Mother's Day," I responded. She turned to look out the window, and sadly said, "I don't have a mom to celebrate with."

 This absolutely shattered my heart. I turned to her, and said, "You may not have a mom, but you have lots of tias who love you so much. And, you have 22 sisters who will be your best friends forever. This may not take the place of a mother, but we love you more than you know, and give you all the support, affection, and love we have in our hearts." She smiled, and said, "You're right, Tia." I only wish I could give her more, but sometimes, words, hugs, and smiles are all I have.

 We got off the bus and walked towards her school. I walked her to the door, and as I was about to leave, she grabbed me and gave me a big hug. "Tia, thanks for everything. I love you," she said in my ear. This was a beautiful, tender moment--something I will never forget.

 Thank you, for reminding me how lucky I am to be a part of your lives--celebrating the exciting moments, laughing at the funny and embarrassing moments, and there to provide a hug and a smile during the rough, sad moments.

So Real. So Pure. So Genuine. So Tender.

I can't imagine celebrating a birthday without my mom, my dad, or my family. Especially when I was younger, birthdays were always important and always celebrated--grand dinners, lots of laughs, presents, and memories were created. Memories that will always be cherished.

Last month, Adriana celebrated her 13th birthday--the special year of becoming a teenager. Her older sister, Sofia, also lives in the home, and the two sisters are extremely close. Adriana looks up to Sofia--emulates her, learns from her, and appreciates her.

The last Saturday of March was Adriana's big day, and after dinner we brought out her cake. We began singing, and she looked down sadly, almost as if she didn't want anyone to see her face or what she was thinking. As she looked up, a smile, not so genuine, crept across her face. As we finished singing, Adriana thanked everyone, closed her eyes for a few seconds, and blew out her candle. I wondered what she wished for--for her mother to be present? For a certain gift? For family reunification?

Sofia was helping one of the tias pass out cake, and she handed the first piece to her little sister. As she placed the small plate on the table, she leaned down and whispered, barely audible, in her sister's ear, "Happy Birthday, little sister. I love you so much." Before turning around, she kissed Adriana's cheek. A very big, very genuine smile appeared on the new teenager's face.

This moment was so tender, so sweet, so emotional, and neither girl knew anyone was watching. It brought tears to my eyes as I thought about how much love they share, and how Sofia has been forced into a motherly role at such a young age. But, what Sofia and Adriana share is something so special, so raw, so tender.

This is just one, very small moment , but during my two years in Cochabamba, I have witnessed moments between these girls there were so real, so pure, so genuine...so tender.

"Is That Me, Tia?"

Doing the life books with the girls has been the highlight of my month, and maybe even the highlight of my time here. It is so wonderful to see them smile and laugh, and reminisce about the past. Many of the girls are plagued and haunted by past trauma, including violence, abuse, neglect, and abandonment. But, to see them smiling, remembering joyful memories makes my heart happy.

Many of the girls, especially the younger ones, struggle with the idea of having their own things. Living in a home, the reality is most everything is shared--school supplies, food, some clothes, toys, and movies. So, to have a book that they themselves have individually made and to have it to cherish and keep forever is something incredible, a very new feeling for them.

Last weekend, I printed tons and tons of photos form when the girls were much younger. Many of them have changed and matured so much, and have blossomed into beautiful young women. But, seeing them as you girls was so fun. We sat and went through each photo, and the girls recounted stories and shared about their first experiences in the home. Although looking at the pictures and watching the girls create these special books that hold their memories is an incredibly amazing experince for me, it was just as incredible to hear them talking about their arrivals at the home, their impressions, their memories. I felt as if I was let into a whole new world, and have reached a new level of trust.

One of the girls, who is now 7, entered the home about five years ago when she was three. Prior to entering Corazon del Pastor, she and her sisters suffered severe physical and psychological abuse, something that still haunts them. I was sitting with her, and she turned to me confused. She asked, "Is that me, Tia?" I looked at the photo and it definitely was her. I said, "Yup, that's you as a tiny girl." It was extremely weird to me that she didn't recognize herself as baby. But, I realized these kids have no pictures from younger years--no photos in the bath tub, riding a bike for the first time, eating solid food for the first time, taking their first steps... This is sad, and makes me realize, again, just how lucky I am to have parents who took millions of pictures of me since I was born.

This project has made me realize that if I had one wish, I would change the pasts of all the kids. I would ensure they had parents who showered them with love and kindness, hugs and kisses. I would make sure they had wonderful memories, which were captured in photos and videos. I would want them to be able to look back at their childhoods fondly and with joy in their hearts. I only hope these books give them a certain peace about their lives, and help them realize that being a "home child" has it's benefits--more hugs, more kisses, and more love from the tias and their "sisters."


Victoria showing off her life book. Although she is young, Victoria has really gotten into the project.


Karina excited to start and thinking about how to display her photos.


Three of the youngest girls working on a page for their books.


Raeka showing some of her photos. She was overly excited about her baby pictures!


Olivia looking through her photos with a smile on her face. She entered the home at a young age also, and was shocked at how little she was five years ago.

"Who is This?"

As my time here comes to a close, the days spent with the children of NCV make me realize how hard it will be to leave.

Yesterday, I worked at the girls' home for over 12 hours. But, the hours and the time didn't matter. Only the memories and the fun, the hugs and the laughs.

We started the day by working in small groups doing their life books. Thanks to Becky and Mark Teiwes, former NCV volunteers, each girl has a life book that she can decorate, put photos, and reminisce. Living a life away from family is hard, and I can't even imagine what these girls feel. But, having a personal place to paste photos and glue down memories makes a difficult situation more bearable. The girls had a blast, and it was obvious that each photo had significance and memories. It was so beautiful to sit and watch as smiles crept over their faces as they slowly looked through their pile of pictures, and as the sat back and admired the pages of photos, stickers, and decorations.

After dinner, as we were all washing and drying dishes, cleaning the dining room and organizing clothes, the phone rang. I answered, "Buenas Noches." And a girl's voice answered back, "Buenas Noches, this is Camila." I was shocked and confused, because the only Camila I knew returned to her family about a year ago. "Who is This?," I asked again just to be sure and clear up my uncertainty. The girl on the other end quickly answered, "It's Camila. Is this Tia Megan?" Then I knew, it was her. This absolutely made my night! When Camila was living in the home, we were very close, and I had a very difficult time when she left. Her return to her family came as a surprise--we found out about 3 hours before it all happened. As we quickly planned a goodbye party for her, the feelings of sadness and complete shock were palpable. Having to say a rushed goodbye, and giving her a final hug and kiss still weigh heavily on my heart. Working so closely with these girls, you create a special bond. And, it's extremely difficult to say goodbye, knowing you may never see them again. So, to hear her voice, and be able to talk was incredible. I am hoping to head to her city before I return to the States to see her one last time, and to bring photos, letters, and cards, and give her one last hug.

And, to finish off a wonderful night, we had a Bingo tournament. To make it more interesting, the grand prizes, which the girls were unaware of, were Justin Beiber and Katy Perry posters, along with some sweets. They had a blast, but I had more fun watching them and listening to them laugh and get excited!

These are the days that make me realize leaving Cochabamba will be much harder than expected. Since being here, I have 24 beautiful sister, and 10 amazing brothers who will be missed every moment. But, I will hold them in my heart. Forever.

"She's Just Sick."

I like to share stories and little moments from my time in Bolivia on here.
The kids of Ninos con Valor have brought so much happiness and joy to my life. But, many of their stories are full of heart break and sadness.

One of our youngest girls in Corazon del Pastor has had a rough life. She's 5, and although she was young when she lived with her parents, she has been greatly affected by the maltreatment that surrounded her for the first part of her life. It all started when she was a baby. Her mother has a history of mental issues. And, this little girl and her siblings have suffered mental, emotional, and physical abuse at the hands of their mother. The young girl still has physical scars that serve as reminders of her traumatizing past. However, despite the violence and trauma that have plagued her life, she is full of smiles and laughs, happiness and kindness, love and affection.

One day, we were sharing scars and the stories behind them. She rolls up her pant leg, and shows the fairly large scar on the inside of her ankle. She comes close, and says, "Tia, my mom did this," still pointing to the scar, the reminder. She comes even closer, and says, "But, she's not bad. She's just sick." This caught me off guard, and tears began to form in my eyes. A 5 year old stated something so profound, so beautiful. Something many of us in our 20s, 30s, 40s, and 50s could never say, or understand.
I pulled her close, and whispered, "You are right. She's not bad." As she sat down in my lap, she said so softly, barely audible, "Ya, Tia, she just needs help. She's not bad."

This happened last week, and has stayed with me, hanging close to my heart since. This moment spent with this very wise, very loving 5-year-old, brought to mind words I have posted on here before: "A scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived," wrote Chris Cleave in his book Little Bee.

I thank her for this moment of pure, untainted love and forgiveness. As I struggle to let go of bitterness and anger, she has learned to forgive her mother, who hurt her more than anyone, even leaving scars.

Hardened.

"Life on this island has hardened me, or let's say that it has made me more realistic."
--Island Beneath the Sea, Isabel Allende


Life in Bolivia has definitely hardened me, or to say, made me more realistic. Realistic about life. About the world.

Seeing the everyday struggles of people has not numbed me or broken me, but has made me realize the complete and utter inequality and injustice in the world. Not that this is not apparent in the United States, but here in the poorest country in South America, economic struggles, lack of social programs, an extremely high infant mortality rate, an underdeveloped educational system, a high rate of abuse, shacks and squatters, extreme poverty, defeat, and sadness seem to inundate life.

From the windows of buses and trufis (Type of public transportation), the amount of people trying to make a living selling candies and tissues, locks and brooms is alarming. And, even more alarming, is the amount of street kids who have run away from appalling situations of abuse, neglect, abandonment, and not being wanted. They live under bridges and in canals, washing windows and begging to get money for food and glue, the drug that calms their hunger and numbs their feelings. Everyone looks at them as the scum of society, "the invisibles." There are also the cancha workers (Those who work in the big market) who can sit all day selling clothes and shoes, fruits and vegetables, housewares and decorations, artesian goods and pets, etc. only to make a dollar or two per day. This will not go far when there are kids to feed, rent to pay, and other daily expenses.

In the two homes where I work, the stories are no different--abuse, neglect, abandonment, drug and alcohol abuse, extreme poverty, and the list goes on. Although the children are now in a place where they receive love and attention, affection and proper nutrition, an education and opportunities they would have never had, many of them have struggled, have fought, and are overcoming. Some are still grappling with stigma of being "Hogar Kids." But, many have realized they are truly lucky to have people who care for them, and will give them the love and opportunities they deserve. Despite this, many are still fighting demons and nightmares from the past, but are working towards a stable, healthy future. For this reason, these kids are my heroes. To have seen such violence, hate, discrimination, and sadness, they are so loving and caring--it truly is a beautiful thing.

So, I definitely have been hardened, or have become more realistic about life while in Bolivia. But, I don't see that as such a bad thing...

Photos from Mizque, Quebras, and Carnaval

Another one of the Quebras kids.


She was a very interesting kid. She smiled rarely, and has these very wise eyes.


We played parachute games with the kids. They were very excited and really got into the game.


Another girl from Quebras, who was very shy.


Arriving at the small community. The teacher at the wawawasi, which means baby home in Quechua, explained that many in the community have migrated. So, majority of the people who live there are small children, young adults, and elderly.


Riding in style--in the back of a garbage truck throwing water balloons and shooting our water guns at people and cars! It was so much fun!


Sofia and I walking down to the river in Mizque. One of the best moments of the trip--sitting in the river, watching the girls laugh and play.


One of the kids from Quebras, a new community we visited outside of the town. So beautiful, but such sadness in the eyes.


Another little cutie from Quebras.


He was extremely cute, and very friendly. He kept talking to me in Quechua, and sadly, I had no idea what he was saying. (I need to learn Quechua so I can communicate with the people from these communities.)


Us figuring out how to cross the very full, rushing river up to the Incan ruins.


The drive to Mizque is absolutely gorgeous!