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Each Casa Hogar site continues in its struggle to raise the bare minimum needed to care for every child and maintain each location. With forty percent of donations in-kind, the other sixty percent must be raised by the Madres. This is no easy task. In addition, the doors of the Casas Hogares are always open – meaning that they do not and will not turn away any girl who is in need of shelter. With donations down 65 percent at one site in 2007, 2008 weighs heavily on their minds. Each Casa Hogar house has an annual budget of approximately $100,000 – going toward shelter, maintenance, food, education, clothing, counseling, and with not a penny to spare. Enough is as Good as a Feast Three siblings, new to Casa Hogar Sollano, unable to get enough to eat – were starving both physically and psychologically. Their mother, widowed and with three other children, two sons and an infant, and living deep within the campo, or countryside, could no longer care for them. Deciding to keep her sons and baby, she turned over her three daughters to Casa Hogar. Not able to fill all of their mouths, she made a choice; she had to choose which children to keep and those to turn away. This story is not uncommon. Horribly malnourished, with extended stomachs and in need of medical attention, the sisters arrived with an insatiable hunger. “All they wanted to do was eat,” says Madre Lupita. “They would have one full meal after another, and still they would ask for more. They would eat until they made themselves physically sick.” When I visited a week later, the siblings were playing and laughing with the other girls. Their woolen caps were noticeably absent, their hair growing in healthy and clean, their limbs, still thin but fuller, were wrapped around waists and shoulders of their new friends and sisters, hugging and embracing a family that had thus far, been elusive. They were whispering to one another, giggling, telling secrets. Gone were the bloated bellies and the constant begging for food. Their new request and one they ask often is “may we please go to school?” They have never been – but are on their way. Painted Houses In another room bathed in light, a volunteer laden with watercolors, brushes and paper, is leading an art class filled with eager students. Clustered around low tables, tiny hands clutching brushes dabbed in bright primary tints, are furiously painting. Absorbed in the creative process, a dizzying swirl of strokes and splashy colors are worked across blank sheets. Within minutes, there is a gallery of miniature masterpieces. And as with all young artists, they are beaming with pride as they hold up their creations for all to see. Madre Lupita smiles broadly and admires each painting with an enthusiastic, “muy bonita, muy hermoso!” I look down upon the table covered with art supplies and see one painting getting its finishing touches, a small hand applying a final dab of yellow. It stands out from all the rest. It stands out not because of its seeming simplicity, but for its depth of meaning, its symbols of hope. It is a child’s painting I have seen many times before, across many years and continents. It is a common theme, for small children, and what we all long for; on the sheet of paper is a brightly painted house beneath the smiling face of a brilliant sun. A home bathed in light. La Casa debajo el Sol. Mary Janes and a Lesson in Family Next day, I meet Loving-Rowland in the central jardin. We are walking the two miles outside of Centro to the barrio of Santa Julia to visit the second refuge. Through colorful neighborhoods alive with children and music, and laced with the savory smells of rotisserie chickens, corn tortillas, and pungent spices, we make our way through a rocky, weed-choked gully, kicking up clouds of dust with every step. The gully is a short cut to Casa Hogar Santa Julia, I’m told, and in the rainy season is impassable from swollen floodwaters. The green spaces within the refuge are a welcome surprise. There are flower-filled gardens and trees bursting with fruit; calla lilies, hot pink bougainvillea, oranges and limes. There are play areas and an outdoor larder where a crate of huge, farm-fresh eggs sits in the shade of a stone ledge. Inside, the communal dining room is pulsating with vibrant energy. An older girl, perhaps eleven or twelve, is grasping the chubby hands of a toddler just learning to walk. She guides the small girl in tiny steps around the room, laughing at each promising step. The toddler’s eyes beam, giggling at her newfound mobility and the encouraging words of her gentle handler. There is music. Girls are cooking and doing dishes. They greet me with beautiful smiles, some offer hugs, a kiss on the cheek. They seem happy. This is a home. The Mother Superior, or Madre Chuy as she is affectionately known, has graciously agreed to give me an hour or so of her time, with precious little to spare. The Madres of the Casas Hogares, six at Sollano and four at Santa Julia, rise at 5:00 a.m., long before the sun stirs, and if lucky, retire by 11:00 each night. Caring for dozens of children does not allow for short days or idle hands. I sit alongside Madre Chuy. There is a small gap between us on the donated sofa. Stumbling in, more absorbed with her plastic toy and a snack, a four year old named after sweet desserts, jiggles her way to the sofa. She squirms onto the cushion, nudging up against the Madre, making sure she doesn’t damage the sugar cookie tightly held in her meaty fist. There is a deliberate distance between us. I am a stranger. Since the age of one, this has been the only home she has ever known. As an infant, she was temporarily “given” to a friend who later refused to give her up when a relative came to claim the child. The friend said “she was a gift.” The family courts are now deciding her fate. She is dressed in bright purples and pinks, a smattering of sequins and other adornments on her tiny top. She is wearing short lacy socks and black patent Mary Janes. She tilts her head toward me, her huge copper penny eyes looking into mine. She whispers something in Spanish, points to the bottom of the toy, and grins. I’m trying to pay respectful attention to the exchange between the Madre and Loving-Rowland, but it is hard to ignore the smiling sweet next to me. She whispers again, tapping the toy with her finger. I bend down and whisper back, she understands me no better than I understand her, but it seems not to matter. She wants me to press something. Crumbs from her cookie drop onto my lap. Finally, she presses on her own releasing a loud, tinny voice from deep inside the toy – she laughs hysterically. I join her. I am aware that her thigh is now brushing against mine. Today, the Madre is particularly exhausted and it shows on her expressive face. Earlier, she had been invited by the junior high/middle school where four of the Santa Julia girls attend, to observe a special child and parent encounter group being led by a psychologist. When she arrived, the psychologist was asking the parents to stand, face their children, place a hand on their shoulder and tell them their feelings. The Santa Julia girls became angry. They were angry at feeling excluded; that they didn’t have parents to participate in the encounter group and therefore, couldn’t share in the experience. Madre Chuy had them gather in front of her and put their arms around one another. She then placed her hands on the shoulders of the girls on the outside of the line. She explained that each of them had not only her, but three other mothers at Santa Julia to go to anytime they needed reassurance, a hand to hold, a loving embrace, someone to listen, a shoulder to cry on, a loving heart. They had a family – right there in front of them – and back at Santa Julia. The four girls, relieved by the conviction of her words were moved to tears. The Madre, seeing the relief on their faces and the tears on their cheeks, also wept.
A native Californian, Jan Baumgartner is a freelance writer currently living in Maine. Her background includes scriptwriting, comedy writing for the Northern California Emmy Awards, and travel writing for The New York Times. She has worked as a grant writer for the non-profit sector in the fields of academia, AIDS, and wildlife conservation and anti-poaching for NGO's in the U.S. and Africa. Her articles and essays have appeared in numerous online and print publications in the U.S. and internationally, including the NYT, Bangor Daily News, SCOOP New Zealand, Wolf Moon Journal, Media for Freedom Nepal, and Banderas News in Mexico. She's finishing a memoir about her husband's death from ALS and how travels in Africa became one of her greatest sources of inspiration and hope. She is a Managing Editor for OpEdNews.
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