July 12, 2013
As we enter the gates of the Salvation Army compound, she is there, swinging around one of the poles. She is in her own world. But as Lynn steps out of the truck, she stops and squeals with delight. She limps over, barefoot on the hot stones. They embrace and Lynn tells me this little girl has been here for the last four years. She looks to be about 14. There are some mental disabilities. She is a mute. She is missing her front tooth. She walks with a pronounced limp. She has a limp left hand that is useless. It is a dead weight. She drools. She is dusty but not filthy. She is an orphan under her sisters’ care. I can only assume that men have taken advantage of her. She is so vulnerable.
She has no boundaries. She stands next to me and slips her hand around my waist. She rests her head on my shoulder. Her wiry hair brushes my cheek. I don’t like this contact. It is too hot and she is too dirty for my comfort. I try to squeeze away from her but she tightens her grip. So I am left with no other recourse but to use some force to free myself.
“It’s too hot", I announce to everyone in ear shot. I try to justify my poor behavior.
“She’s pitiful, isn’t she?” I tell Lynn.
“I’ve seen her grow up. I think she is precious” she responds. With that, in the blazing sun, Lynn gives her a full body hug and Pitiful squeals with delight. I walk away, ashamed of my callousness.
For the next week, Pitiful is constantly at my side. I can’t get rid of her. She waits for me in the morning. She joins me at the women’s group. She sits next to me on the bench and rests her head on my lap. When one of the translators barks at her to get off, she slithers down, right next to me and leans on my legs. I can’t get rid of her.
Sometimes when she is resting against my leg, she takes her one good hand and rubs my ankles. Her dirty, dry hand feels like an exfoliate rag. She looks up at me and I squirt her with my water spray bottle. She giggles with delight. Sometimes she extends her hand to me. She wants me to squirt her again and again. I do and she giggles with delight.
If I sit on any bench other than the one at the head of the classroom, she limps over and grabs my arm. With determination, she leads me back to the seat she thinks is rightfully mine and mine only.
She rolls on the floor at other times, oblivious to people and her surroundings. Then she crawls back to me. The women ignore her. Sometimes they bark at her. Sometimes she crawls away from this barking. But mostly she ignores them and slides in to her own little world.
I discover that she loves to cut things with scissors. So I find scraps of paper and scissors and instruct her to cut. This occupies her time for a while. When she is finished, she wants me to inspect her cuttings.
Beth, our nurse, comes to our group to give a talk on birthing. Midway during her presentation, she turns to me and comments, “She is in my way.” Pitiful is resting quietly on Beth’s feet.
“Yea”, I tell her, “She’s Pitiful. You’ve heard me talk of her. She won’t go away. Just ignore her.”
But Beth is too distracted by her. She finds it hard to concentrate. So we find some paper and I wave scissors in front of Pitiful and she crawls over to me. Beth is now able to continue.
Today, mid-morning, I notice that I haven’t seen her yet. This is very usual. She is always here with us. Where could she be?
“Has anyone seen her today?” I ask the translators.
“Who?” one of them replies.
“Precious, I don’t see her. I hope she is alright.” With that, I spot her, off in the distance. She is swinging on one of the poles, in her own little world.
Tuesday, July 23- there is only one bathroom in the compound and it is in deplorable condition. It is only cleaned every third day. The toilet does not flush. And it is in an enclosed room with no windows. So the smell is hot and offensive.
Most days I do not even go near the room. But some days I just have to go. Today is one of those unfortunate days.
“No, no, no”, I shout to her through the crack in the door. “Stay away. Go away”!
But she ignores my request and now I can feel her breath on my face. She stands there, staring at me. And I realize that I have to surrender as I really have to go. But then, just then, her thin, long fingers slither through the opening. With all of her might she struggles, to pull the door even tighter as she attempts in vain to offer me just a bit more privacy,
************************************************************But she ignores my request and now I can feel her breath on my face. She stands there, staring at me. And I realize that I have to surrender as I really have to go. But then, just then, her thin, long fingers slither through the opening. With all of her might she struggles, to pull the door even tighter as she attempts in vain to offer me just a bit more privacy,
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Thursday, August 1- Madi, our 13 year old volunteer, comes looking for me. She has just witnessed some boys beating Magdalena with sticks. She called to them to stop and they ran off. And so did Magdalena. Now Madi is trembling with sorrow.
“I can’t believe it. What should we do”, she asks me as she is weeping.
“I don’t know”, I tell her truthfully. How do we intervene on behalf of this poor, pathetic girl who is viewed as mad, an imbecile, a burden to the community? She has no allies but us and we are leaving soon. So what can we really do?
Madi and I find a place on the street to sit. I rub her back as she attempts to calm down. She speaks with sorrow of the injustice of it all. I am filled with sorrow for Magdalena and for Madi. Both young girls now know just how cruel life can be.
“It isn’t fair. Why can’t they just leave her alone? She isn’t hurting anyone”, she cries in a meek, sad voice. The injustice is just too much for her to bear.
“This is out of our control”, I tell her with too much defeat in my voice. “It’s terrible but really what can we do?” Madi is right but I too am at a loss as to what to do. I have been on Haiti too long. Surrendering to the injustices of the world is coming too easily for me.
Madi stopped them today but tomorrow is her last day in Haiti. Who will intervene on Magdalena’s behalf tomorrow and the next day and the next day?
We sit in silence for a moment. We decide to target a few boys in the neighborhood who seem to be leaders, boys with good character. We seek them out. We get them to commit to stand up for Magdalena. We speak to them with an urgency to help us. Several of them agree. They will not only refrain from ever hitting her. But they will intervene on her behalf if anyone else ever tries to beat her.
We then decide to approach the leader of our women’s group. We will ask her to get these women to stand up for Magdalena. I told Madi that I had already approached them earlier in the summer about being Magdalena’s advocate. Madi’s sweet voice and heartfelt request should surely solidify their commitment.
With our plan now implemented, Madi feels some relief, some control over this sad situation. She is breathing a little easier. As we sit and watch the rhythm of the neighborhood, Magdalena shows up out of nowhere. She slides right next to Madi and leans on her. She puts her head on Madi’s lap. Madi now rubs Magdalena’s back.For more stories about my time in Haiti, please of to Bridgetkellyinhaiti.blogspot.com
