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| My Boy |
The first time I met Wadah, I thought he was blind. He failed to respond at all to his surroundings. The way he moved about and lack of response to stimuli clearly communicated he suffered severe disabilities. It was upon learning his name and attempting to interact with him that I was informed he could hear but did not respond to his name. Next, I heard his story.
Wadah was found abandoned in the middle of the road. No one
knows how old he was when he was found, but MODUC, the orphanage where he lives,
estimates he was one and half. He was between a tea shop and a garage and his
hands and knees were completely calloused from exclusively crawling around on
rough surfaces. It’s hard to know the extent of Wadah’s disabilities, but as a friend
pointed it, it’s likely they were confirmed the day he was abandoned.
Last week, I was able to visit MODUC again. This time, Wadah
was in a small building, holding onto the shirt of a slightly larger boy. This
boy had been close by Wadah on our last trip, and it became clear he had a
vested interest in his small friend’s well being. Wadah watched us give the
other boy a deworming pill and held out his had to receive one as well. He took
it and chewed it as the boy before him did. Although his senses and processing
are clearly limited, we were able to see on this trip that he is better able to
observe and participate in his surroundings than we initially thought.
I believe there’s great power in physical contact. My first
inclination upon learning he had some sensory perception was to snatch him up
and love on him, but I hesitated. Moments later, we were called into another
building for a meeting with Mother Bae, who runs the orphanage. As we waited
for Mother Bae, I saw the larger boy and a few other children who had been with
us in the first building come in through a back door. I looked through the side
window and saw the stream of youngsters continuing. Bringing up the rear was
Wadah. The orphanage estimates that he’s about five now, but he’s the size of a
three-year-old. He walks slowly and tentatively. On the left side, he is
flat-footed, but he walks on his right toes as if he was wearing a single
high-heel. His spine curves to the side from his hips to his neck to straighten
out his top half and maintain his balance. There were steps down from the first
building and steps up into the one where we stood. He dropped down on all-fours
to negotiate them.
As I saw Wadah coming, I waited by the back door for him to
arrive. There are two common hand greetings in Liberia. One is an elaborate hand
shake that ends with the participants snapping off of each others’ fingers. The
second is a fist bump followed by two to three taps on the chest with your
fist. In my experience, the second is more common amongst children. As Wadah
rounded the corner, I squatted on my heels to get a little closer to his height
and held my fist out. He looked up at me, gave me a pound, tapped his chest
twice, and went on his way to another room where all the children had gathered.
I was elated that I got to interact with him, but disappointed that it seemed
our time together was over.
I sat down with the adults as the meeting started. A couple
moments later, Wadah was leading a few of the children back into the room. They
quickly surpassed his slow, tentative steps, so he dropped down on his hands
and knees to crawl, moving more speedily and making up ground. He stopped about
ten feet short of where we were meeting. I stood up and walked over to him and
held my hands out to him, inviting him to come into my arms. He held his open
arms up to me in reply. I swept him up, hugged him, carried him over to the
meeting and sat him on my knee. He sat quietly and comfortably, finding spaces
for his hands in mine. He eventually settled with his small hands holding one
finger on each of my much larger hands. I hope he felt as joyful as I did as
while we sat there together.
Quite literally, God only knows what Wadah has been through
in his short life. In all likelihood, he was born with disabilities that were
drastically exacerbated by malnutrition and neglect. He has and will face many
challenges in his life. Thankfully, Wadah has a tremendous amount of heart. One
of the most attractive things in the world to me is when broken people (and
puppies) do all they can to overcome their circumstances. Grit, gumption, will,
being a badass, whatever you want to call it, Wadah has it.
What breaks my heart is that Wadah will not get the help he
needs to experience the fullest possible recovery from the birth lottery he
largely lost. I’ve found myself hemming and hawing about the concept of
adopting from a place like Liberia on this trip. Adoption saves children in
some respects, but it can steal them from a country that needs them in another
respect. Liberia has a whole generation of amputees and heroin addicts, child
soldiers from civil wars that laid waste to their country. I believe orphanages
and schools here need to be strengthened so the children of the next generation
can help rebuild this country.
However, Wadah and many of his peers need involved care.
After in effect watching a man die in a critical care unit last week, I can
speak first hand to the fact that medical resources are limited here. If I
could take Wadah home this week when I head home to SF, I would. I’ve found
myself daydreaming a couple of times that I could come back for him one day.
I’ve spent a lot of time in other countries feeling that I
was helping to solve others’ problems. I met homeless families in Mexico and assisted
in building them homes. I did the same for folks on an Apache reservation. In
eight countries, I’ve helped bring savings and loan programs to folks who did
not have formal financial services available to them. I’m thankful for these
opportunities and I’m proud of much of the work that I did.
Thinking about Wadah makes me wonder what more we can do. It
also makes me feel trapped. There is so much more than Wadah’s life at stake. I’ve
spent nearly a month in a country that was formerly a shining star of Africa,
but now lacks basic infrastructure. I’m just not sure where to start, but I
will say that if you or someone you know is interested in adopting Wadah, I can
do my best to help.
