Today left me exhausted with lots to think over and process.

Cheri and I spent the day at a government orphanage here in Jamaica. We walked into the mayhem just after the children finished their breakfast.
Here's the scene:
Imagine about 25 toddlers covered with cornmeal mush. Half of them are sitting at little wooden tables, the other half are crawling around on the floor. I think there was one adult in the room. Maybe two.
Do we want to see the babies? Haven't we seen them already? No. There is another room full of cribs with even smaller children. The first baby I pick up is covered with urine from neck to knee. Um... I think this one needs a diaper change. One of the regular volunteers just smiled. It took me about one more second to realize that EVERY child needed one.

And so its bathtime. We go into the room of beds and cribs. The mush covered children are carried/herded in, and we're told to start stripping all of them. There is a bathroom off the dorm room, and the workers sit the toddlers on colorful plastic bowls which function as potties. Six or so naked babies sit on these potties, a few of them nodding off to sleep while they squat. Every child is hosed down with cold water in either the large sink or the tub, but they all seem used to it and only a few cry. We in the dorm are handed wet, naked babies to dry off with a communal towel, to powder, and to dress. There are some disposable diapers, some cloth, and a massive pile of clothes. We do our best.

We're supposed to take the clean, clothed babies to the veranda where they sit, unsupervised, while we frantically attend to the clean, naked babies. Three workers, five volunteers: about 35 children bathed in one hour. Chaotic, sweaty work.

We spend the next hour or so playing with the children. Among the toddlers and infants, there are also about four children with special needs. Its difficult to say how old they are... somewhere between ages 6 and 10? And its difficult to say what their special needs actually are. Certainly there are developmental delays, perhaps mental retardation. They cannot speak, their twiggy arms and legs are stiff and twisted, covered with bed sores. They lay on mats on the floor with beautiful, wide eyes. I sit with them, singing to them and rubbing their backs, arms, and legs. They smile, one even laughs. I don't know their stories, and I don't know very much about their disablities and handicaps. But I am sure... I'm SURE that if these kids had someone taking care of them, loving them, they wouldn't be confined to a silent life on the floor.

Snack time comes. All of these babies sit at a regular-sized picnic table. Sitting on the benches, their heads don't even come up to the top of the table. I keep imagining somebody toppling over onto the gravel. Nobody does.

More play time, then naps. Then lunch. We help as many as we can, but most of the babies feed themselves. This time everybody is covered with mashed potatoes. Another round of diaper changes, some need to be hosed down again. Now we're out of disposable diapers, so some of them just wear underwear. We sit and play with the babies again. Not surprisingly, the babies without real diapers make messes all over themselves and the floor. Nobody seems terribly disturbed when other children are crawling through the puddles left behind.

It all sounds so terrible. And it was. But somehow, it was obvious that everybody was doing the best that they could do. Most of the workers were tired but kind. A few were impatient, but it came only from exhaustion. With their limited resources, its hard to believe that they're even managing this well.

We're going back tomorrow... and so its time for bed.