Barbara Dobilas and Vanessa Stahl continues their story about Mission 35 in Part II of The Mission 35 Chronicles.
By the middle of the week, we had become accustomed to our surroundings and the routine. Strangely enough, I didn’t miss TV or radio, hot water or my computer although I did wish for an internet connection just to able to communicate with family and friends. It seemed like everyone knew we were in Nicaragua and I felt compelled to keep them updated.
On Wednesday, I went with a small group to the Parjito Azul – Little Blue Parrot – a disability center for mentally and physically handicapped children in Managua. All of the residents lived there, whether orphan or not, they were brought to the center because their families could not take care of them.
The facility was old and spare, but very clean. The staff was attentive and the children and adults seemed well cared for. Most of the people were outgoing and friendly in that innocent, open way that mentally handicapped people can be, as if they are totally unaware of any dangers in the world.
We made our way to the Nursery, a special room that housed the youngest of the residents. There were children ages 2 to 6, all with varying degrees of handicaps. A pretty little 2 year old girl with Downs Syndrome, came toddling right up to us as we walked in and waited for our attention. She was eager to hold hands with one of my fellow Missioners, Pablo who seemed completely smitten by her charms. She was delighted when we took her picture, while her small hand was still holding onto Paul’s finger.
I moved over to the side of the room and found two young boys. They both were staring at nothing and moved their little bodies in twitchy, jerking movements. Angel was about 3 and seemed to be very unaware of his surroundings or my presence. I took a stuffed teddy bear and rubbed it against his stomach, tickling him gently. He responded by smiling. Although he didn’t make eye contact with me, he obviously was enjoying it. I turned to the other young boy, Paulo was a little older, but less responsive. I began stroking his hair and I was rewarded when he started to arch his little body against my hand and seemed to smile. I wanted to think my efforts pleased him.
The tears had started coursing down my cheeks as soon as I had touched Angel, they became almost choking now with Paulo. I was embarrassed to be so emotional, and tried desperately to avoid making eye contact with the others from my group. But there was no hope for it, my face was completely wet with my tears, my nose a lovely shade of red. I at least tried not to sniffle. I kept thinking how desperately sad; these children were so handicapped and had so very little..
I walked towards a small boy lying in a infant seat. His name was Roberto and he completely undid me. Roberto had pediatric encephalitis, or extra fluid inside his head that caused severe compression of his brain. This didn’t allow his brain to develop normally, causing devastating brain damage. In the US, this condition could have been corrected by placing a shunt inside his skull to drain the extra fluid. In Nicaragua, there had been no chance of this for him.
At 4 years old, Roberto was 24 inches long and his small body was badly contorted and twisted. His large eyes strained to the right, seeing but not understanding. The care taker had just given him vitamins in a dropper which he must not have liked because he began to cry when she laid him back in his infant seat. A big tear slowly fell from his eye as he communicated in the only way he could or ever would. I picked him up to sooth him, and began to rock my body from side to side in the time-honored way that anyone who has ever comforted a crying child does. Gently, slowly, with one hand cradling his large head and the other wrapped around his body to hold him securely, he began to settle. As I stroked his hair, I cried and cried, I just couldn’t stop crying. When it was time to leave, I didn’t want to put him down and surprisingly, I was allowed to take him out of the baby room as the other missioners moved through the school.
So we walked, Roberto and me. I lost track of the group and time as I carried Roberto over to the sunshine where he seemed to feel the wind on his face as he shifted in my arms. He wasn’t capable of moving much but he did snuggle in to me and I felt his weight shift. And when I heard that double breath sigh that babies make when they are content, I was happy. Happy to be able to give him my love. After 30 minutes, I reluctantly brought him back to the Nursery. I laid him down in his crib and bent over to kiss his forehead. This boy could have been anyone’s child, any mother could have given birth to him but now he was nobody’s.
After a while, our group came together again and we left to return to El Nino, our home away from home. Hours later, I could still little Roberto in my arms and hear his contented sigh.
Vanessa spent the day planning and painting a mural at the clinic at La Chureca. Sr. Cathy, Vanessa and a team of young people were tasked with painting four walls of a room at the clinic used for families. The big bold butterflies and flowers, all in vibrant colors, seem to radiate joy and love, as the words they painted in the mural clearly spelled out. It was truly a wonderful addition to this clinic. And although the clinic is surrounded by poverty, despair and dirt, inside was becoming an oasis of color and hope.
