Nongkhai, Thailand
I have learned that Thai is a very complicated language.
On my second night I was sitting with a few of the younglings in a drawing session. The little kids attach themselves to you after just a few hours. The older ones are significantly more distanced, and require some catalyst for an exchange. It's hard because I know almost no thai, and they know almost no english. I was sitting at a table with three little kids doodling on pages from my sketchbook. They were drawing pictures of mountains and racecars, and I was drawing the kids. The oldest boy at St. Patrick's was sitting like he did every night after dinner, softly playing guitar in the corner and singing under the fluorescent light.
We listened to this and sketched. One boy came up and watched me draw for long time, then asked to thumb through my sketchpad.
"Mankon! Pee! Wat-Loob! Soi..." he said as he turned the pages, wide-eyed.
I realized he was naming what I had drawn.
A three hour vocabulary lesson sprung from this, as the older boys sat me down in front of a big "ABC" chart on the wall in thai, and taught me the alphabet, the numbers, and how to write my name. We laughed late into the evening as I stumbled over rolling r's and they stumbled over long l's.
This became almost a nightly thing, with me transcribing all the names of my drawings in thai and english, with little dashes and bars representing tonal variations and vocabulary. I drew them a big dragon before I left and signed it in thai.
Thai is tough to learn.
5 different tones for a single word, meaning 5 different things. I read that when I first arrived in thailand, but it's VERY different when you actually try and speak it yourself.
"Pu Nee Pom Cap Baan."
This was the hardest phrase for me to learn to say. Not to pronounce, translate, or vocalize, but to tell to the children at the Sarnelli house at the end of my stay.
"Tomorrow I am going home."
What ensued was a game of them yelling "Mai! Pe TohBee! Mai!" and attaching themselves to my back, arms and legs as I slowly limped to my bike, dragging one child-laden foot after the other. The only way to get them off was to tickle them to the point of nearly peeing their pants. Two still jumped on the back of my bike expecting to go somewhere new and exciting.
I would take them if I could.
I've learned that after 7 long days and nights my exhaustion does not compare to the tremendous warmth that has grown in my heart for these children.
My last two nights I was one of two "parents" at the boys home. Ood had to leave for Bangkok, so he left me and the bus driver in charge of St. Patrick's. I was worried a bit, being half responsible for seventeen rambunctious boys. They were amazingly well-behaved, and we spent the evening making a clay zoo on a big piece of cardboard. Afterwards they went straight to bed without a fuss. I never thought my trip would entail handing out Scooby-doo toothbrushes, giving out hugs, and tucking snotty little ones under the covers.
I have learned that Sarnelli and St. Patrick's are much more than orphanages. While working I watched a middle-aged farmer with a child wrapped up in his arms, walk into Sarnelli house to get free medicine for his kid. Three hours later while in a van on a field trip to the hospital, we stopped for that man, who had been walking for miles with his child, slowly making their way back home.
This place gives to the entire community.
I've learned that Ood is stressed. He has trouble sleeping at night. We'd stay up late talking about infrastructure, staffing, budget. He tells me stories. He has accumulated plenty since arriving here. He talks about their community outreach program, how many lives he could save with the proper resources, time and money. It keeps him up knowing he's so close to saving lives. He remembers names and faces of people who died that he could not help. He shows me some pictures. Gaunt faces, thinned by TB and infection. They contracted AIDS from ignorance, and died without receiving help.
I've learned that you can have happiness without having much else. These building's i've been living in are not just blue and white concrete. They are repositories for atrocities committed against children, and a home for redeeming that pain. No one should have to be born into these circumstances. These kids knew nothing but adversity and suffering until they arrived at this place. Their short lives manifest a tremendous horror that has sprung from ignorance - thoroughly avoidable ignorance.
Quite simply, this place is in dire need of money. They do their best, and are completely dedicated to these kids and this community. They just lack funding.
I am not a redemptorist, I am not catholic. I'm not a member of any religion. Firsthand I have found this to be a worthy cause. These children live on a bit over a dollar a day, and every cent, satang, peso, pound and baht can honestly and immediately help them improve the length and quality of their lives. Right now on their current medication, these children have many years ahead of them. With the proper medicine and resources, they can live well into adulthood. And by then, perhaps even longer.
I thought there was a distance between living well and making a difference, but I believe that space between privation and happiness is easily bridged. I can stand having one less drink on the weekend, or not going out one night to ensure that Baht or Kadee or Joi have an actual bed to sleep in. I think I've known this for long time, about the translation of my wealth, but it's so easy to become insulated. We have so much, but we forget.
Sometimes the simplest truths are the hardest to see.
Much love to you all,
Tobias
Photo Gallery: Sunday Rice Planting
Sarnelli House Project