Today we are supposed to finish cleaning the visitors' area, and then it is time to give our last minute donations to the orphanage. I've decided to donate the little suitcase that had the bug repellent spilled in it, and so I need to also donate enough of my clothes and stuff to get everything else in my remaining suitcase. We are encouraged to leave anything we don't need, and to not feel embarrassed to give something that is old or dirty. They can make use of almost anything. For example, they said that they like to give each child a suitcase, so they can use it instead of a dresser drawer. Thus, it doesn't matter if the wheels don't turn nicely anymore, ore if it has a bit of a rip.
Since we cleaned the gazebo last night, I actually have some free time. I go to the prayer gazebo where Joseph is playing some worship songs. It is a good time to jsut sit and listen.
A girl comes to sit by me -- maybe 11 years old. She is eager to be loved and tries different ways of draping herself on me. She is fascinated by my fanny pack, and really wants to open the zippers. I watch to make sure she isn't taking anything, and try teaching her the words 'close' and 'open', then ask her to close it. Then she tries to open my camera case, and even says the word 'open?' back to me. So I try saying the word 'close', and she closes it. I'm happy she learned the words, but I'm even happier that the zips are now closed!
She asks my name, then borrows my pen to write it on her hand. No one walks around with paper here, so you either draw with a stick in the dirt, or draw on yourself. I ask her what her own name is, and she is touched almost to tears when I reciprocate by writing it on my hand. Later on, in the airplane I can still see it faintly. A connection across the miles that will fade by tomorrow.
Some little boys come pestering -- they want to chase her off so they can have my attention, but the girls are always outnumbered by the boys, and I've hardly had a conversation with one, so I don't want her to be pushed out. I try placating one of the boys by pouring some of my drink into his bottle when he asks, but it backfires, as all his friends start fighting over the bottle, and want more and more.
Meanwhile, Aysha is happy to just sit by me, as close as she possibly can, leaning over into my lap. Our quiet time together is interrupted by a mischievous little boy who quietly sneaks close, and then paradoxically makes a little noise to get my attention. He is grinning with enjoyment, and I simply smile back, not getting the joke, so then he makes makes exaggerated gestures with his eyes, and succeeds in getting me to look down at his hands, which are busy trying to put a huge bug in my pocket. I jump and scream, and now his joy is complete -- exactly the effect he was looking for!
I go back to help sort the donations. I had brought a brand new sweatshirt that I only wore one evening on the last outreach, but I figure that I don't really need it, so I put it in the pile, not realizing that it was smelling pretty funky from a combination of the cooking fire and my bug repellent. The other people sorting the donations are handing it around sniffing it and trying to figure out the smell. I'm too embarrassed to tell them it's mine, or explain why it is so stinky. After sorting through the clothes, some people go over to the washing sinks to wash the clothes (including the infamous sweatshirt). I go help at the donation closet. I reach in with some rolls of tissue paper, and the missionary exclaims "are those American toilet paper? that is like gold here!"
And finally it is time to jump into the back of the trucks one more time. It is easier this time, as we can finally do away with the capulanas, the long wraparound skirts. Wearing pants makes it much easier to climb over the high tailgate. I hear people around me saying that they are glad to be going home, but I'm surprised to find that I feel different. I'm actually not ready to go. I'm finally acclimated. I still have things I'd like to do here.
As the truck starts up, I suddenly remember my Makhua lesson, and realize that if I substitute 'New York' for 'Tutubue' I can say "goodbye, I'm now leaving to go home to New York". I shout it out, and some of the local Bible students clap at my effort, then wave as we pull out of the gate.
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